


Vikings are actually ladies in men's clothing

by isolated_killer



Category: Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Community: je_fqfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolated_killer/pseuds/isolated_killer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamashita felt lonely because he needed to leave for America for his Route 66 trip. He had one more boring day to spend in Japan. And Kamenashi simply couldn't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vikings are actually ladies in men's clothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for je_fqfest of 2012.

_Later, he would be saying that he just wanted to help him fall asleep._

**1:03am. Only nice booze can comfort a Viking.**

Yamashita’s tenacious fingers squeezed the beer bottle, as he examined the pile of _something_ smelly on the cracked plate in front of him. That _something_ was supposed to be an omelet with sausages; Yamashita was sure he had read the menu right. But the palish beaten eggs lay cold and dead on the green of the cracked plate and menacingly looking sausages thickly covered in ketchup resembled _chopped off_ _fingers_ he had once seen in a grindhouse movie. Yamashita now knew exactly why he had a habit of skipping all those horror movies America had produced during the past years.

Not able to endure the sight of such a crude crime committed against innocent food, Yamashita glanced over the cheap diner and its rare inhabitants, the night calling the craziest kind out to play cards and waste liquor. He had to be pretty crazy himself, if he had responded to the urgent call of his stomach; at midnight, all alone, he left his now inhumanly tidy flat, his packed suitcase, and dived into the constant stream of people flooding Tokyo in search of something edible to quench his hunger and _maybe_ distract himself from all kinds of unsettling thoughts.

The closest thus most convenient diner that served _anything at all_ at one in the morning was currently his place of sitting. Not a very pleasant place of sitting, if he did say so himself. When a disheveled-looking, sleepy waiter served him his third bottle of beer, taking away the untouched meal into the depths of the kitchen, Yamashita understood that tonight only beer could possibly help him cope with… _himself_.

**1:10am. There’s no definition of friends in this World.**

_Or, maybe, not only booze._ Yamashita thought excitedly and grabbed his phone, full of hope that some kind soul would be glad to save him from the loneliness, ultimate depression and possible following self-inflicted suffering. Scrolling through the list of his contacts, though, had Yamashita even more depressed, little stormy clouds of desperation settling over him. Everyone who he had the urge to see or simply talk to was either out of town or country. Everyone else would only worsen his current state of mind.

Yamashita let out a dejected howl and let his head fall to the counter, his forehead bumping against the wood with a flat noise. The young man ignored the startled gazes directed at him, closing his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, the tinkling of cutlery and muffled talking that stubbornly penetrated the wall between him and the present. Tonight, he had a real choice though.

In a day, he would be in another part of the world. Alone, once again. With no chance ( _and too many embarrassing reasons_ ) to call anyone close to him.

Now, that would be a problem.

Yamashita’s fingers were already rapidly typing the message before he had even thought his own decision through.

_yo whacha doin Im feelin lonely don’t wanna leave_

He waited with bated breath, fingers nervously sliding over the smooth screen, nails absent-mindedly scratching the surface of his phone. A moment later, it beeped.

_yo trying to sleep idiot stop bein a girl and suck it up_

Yamashita huffed, scandalized by such a crude treatment. There, he was giving the other a chance to sympathize to him, a chance to consolidate their bond, and all he got was a cold shoulder!?

_Ryochan you r bag of poop_

There, that would make Nishikido feel guilty and miserable; a perfectly composed message.

_U dumbass go to bed_

Yamashita switched off his phone, not deigning his ex-bandmate a reply. He decided that he no longer had any friends.

**1:40am. There’s always the sun behind the stormy clouds.**

Yamashita was way too tipsy when he had finally left the diner, so the drive home was unacceptable. That was, of course, if he had driven a car there in the first place.

That idea left him thinking.  

His boots shuffled along the pavement, as street lamps cast random streams of light on the road in front of him. Half-naked bushes on the sides wavered under the strong wind, and, in a failed attempt to stay warm, Yamashita zipped up his jacket; the useless stylish garment was only to be showed off though, and had no intentions of warming its owner up. Fingers hidden in the pockets squeezed the familiar form of his phone. Yamashita continued to march, his face emotionless, eyes thoughtful, nose – red. When another windy blow struck him, making him struggle for a steel cold breath, Yamashita forgot all about his hesitance, fingers dialing the number they had memorized by themselves, a long time ago.

“Kame?”

  **2:01am. Night rambles don’t have to always end badly.**

Kamenashi’s car was warm, his leather seats were snuggly soft and he had some quiet retro station on, old songs, familiar tunes filling Yamashita’s blank head; the tipsy guy started with silently humming to the melodies, moaning out one random word or two, and in the next moment, he’s swinging in his seat, shaking his long hair like a dog to Cindy Lauper’s _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun._

“Stop it. You look like you’re having seizures.”

Yamashita gave the other a cunning smile.

“Clearly, we need to get you drunk. The faster, the better.”

He saw Kamenashi swallow a retort, probably, how that was definitely the last time he gave him a night ride home; something he said every time he picked Yamashita up after another night of a drunken outing. Kamenashi’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as his eyes momentarily darted to the side to see the look on the other’s face. Continuing to hum absent-mindedly, Yamashita looked back, involuntarily pleased by how edgy his driver seemed. He let his eyes linger on the other’s features, his tired expression, the ever-present frown, blood-shot eyes, lips set in a thin line, disheveled hair; he had still managed to keep the classy look though, the laces of his sneakers matching with his jacket’s lapels and stylishly ripped jeans he had probably grabbed in a hurry (weren’t all Kame’s jeans stylish ripped anyways) not bulging in all the wrong places. But the guy clearly lacked sleep; that definitely stroke his eye.

“It’s so strange to see you look so… casual. You seem to always wear suits these days,” Yamashita murmured, eyes back on the road, as if he was the one driving the car, clinging to the steering wheel so tightly.

“Yeah. I’m a serious adult now…” Kamenashi’s speech was slow, words slightly slurred; now he was concentrating on the road, squinting, his eyes exhausted. He didn’t continue his phrase, letting it evaporate in the warmth of the car; if Yamashita didn’t know better, he would have thought Kamenashi got distracted. But now he just had to pointedly clear his throat and send the other _the look._ He enjoyed the next moment when Kamenashi’s frown deepened and the man huffed quietly, as if annoyed by his sheer presence beside him.

“So. What about that monster drama you’re doin…”

“Seriously, Yamashita, stop challenging yourself at small talk. You’re bad at this, and I’m not in the mood to feign patience tonight,” Kamenashi interrupted him harshly, his eyes glaring daggers at him, as he finally chanced a look away from the windscreen.

“What’s eating you?”

They stared at each other for a fleeting moment, and then still frowning Kamenashi had to return his gaze on the road; killing off the two of them now wouldn’t do anyone good. The pause grew, neither willing to let the question drop. Yamashita started loudly humming to another old song, purposefully annoying, tapping his fingers on his knees, bobbing his head to the tune, _waiting._ Kamenashi silently continued driving, his body tensed as if he was afraid the concentration would suddenly fail him and he would have to _give in_. When a few minutes later, the car came to a shaky halt, no one moved. Yamashita turned to the other, staring at him expectantly, that little encouraging smile on his lips which always showed his teeth; _still tipsy, he was._

Then Kamenashi’s palms fell on his knees, and the guy sighed exasperatedly, _finally giving in,_ shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.  

“I can’t sleep. I don’t know. I’ve tried everything, pills, massages, relaxing baths, oils… Nothing’s helping. It’s been a week already and I’m just not myself anymore. I know it’s because of all the stress but I don’t know what to do, I can’t just stop working.”

Yamashita hummed, nodding, his face – a thoughtful mask. There was a moment of silence when Kamenashi with his eyes downcast unclasped the seatbelt and then wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, suddenly looking so small and exhausted, and also _kind of miserable_ , that it was hard to believe he could still function at all.   

“Well… That really sucks, man. I don’t know how to help you. ”

Kamenashi rolled his eyes at Yamashita’s dubious reply, and his chapped lips twitched, a tiny smile grazing them; the first genuine one for the last couple of days.

“But… I do know that you brought me to _your_ apartment to do anything but sleep, am I right?”

They shared a fleeting look at that, Yamashita’s heartbeat accelerating as he noticed a smirk on the other’s lips. A second later Kamenashi was tucking the ignition keys into his pocket and getting out of the car.

“I have vodka. Help me get rid of it.”

That made Yamashita grin. The sheer word _vodka_ always had a magical effect on his mood. 

**2:45am. Ladies don’t eat after seven pm, but Vikings do.**

Upon entering and kicking off his heavy boots, not at all ashamed of the hole in his left sock, Yamashita was immediately struck by the strong smell of scented anti-mosquito sticks. The spacious living room looked a bit untidy, magazines and books lying all over the floor and coffee table, a cup of forgotten now cold lemon tea and Kamenashi’s laptop, standing wide-opened but not switched on; that was the sight Yamashita was used to, the cozy lived-in apartment, and dogs sprawled over their cute blue blankets in the corner. He stood in the middle of that homey chaos, examining the possible changes after his last visit there, almost physically feeling how the peculiar scent clang and penetrated his clothes while there was a small ruckus heard from the kitchen.

“Kame, it’s autumn. No mosquitos. Why would you still burn sticks?” He marched after the owner of the flat into the kitchen, where the other had already taken out a few beer bottles and one bottle of vodka, placing them in the middle of the wooden table in a neat row, like they were soldiers sentenced to be shot. Now the guy was kind of dazedly moving around his kitchen with a pan held in his hand, a stubborn frown distorting his exhausted face.

“I like the smell, it soothes me. So I thought, why not try, maybe they would help...” He slowly trailed off, settling the pan filled with cold water on the stove, and then shuffling towards the fridge, his every move squeaking with tiredness.

“Well, it’s stinky.”

“Don’t like, don’t visit.”

There was a momentarily pause during which Kamenashi put some celery and onions into the sink and opened the tap with warm water, and then placed a deep bowl and big plastic package of Korean ramen in front of Yamashita to open it; no words regarding the food preparing were exchanged between the two as each continued to do what was supposed of them, cooking together being an essential part of countless evenings spent together.

“But, technically, you were the one who brought me here.”

“Yamashita, don’t.”

Kamenashi’s voice contained a hint of desperation and reproof, as he sent the other a gloomy look over his shoulder, the knife in his hand stilling over the half-cut vegetables. Yamashita gave him a small peaceable smile then, returning to the task at hand; he got up to take out the chopsticks and huge beer glasses that, he knew, were reserved specifically for such evenings.

A few minutes later, they both were stooping over the stove, the steam from boiling water clouding their vision, as Kamenashi’s fingers carefully sank the yellow stone-hard brick of ramen noodles inside the pan and Yamashita added the spicy seasoning with celery and onions in, whining quietly when his palm got burned by the bursting bubbles of hot water. They continued to stand there, enveloped in hot humid air rising from the scorching hot pan, with one staring at the watch on the wall, counting exactly five minutes till the so-called nightly dinner was done, and the other – absent-mindedly overlooking his form.

“What?” Feeling the other’s gaze on his body, Kamenashi glowered at him, suspicious of the sudden attention he was receiving from the guy.  

“Nothing.” Yamashita shrugged, not at all affected by the glare, his penetrative eyes continuing their examination. “You lost weight again.”

“Monsters are supposed to look fit and have no excess weight in weird places.” Kamenashi rolled his eyes and shrugged in his turn, seemingly unperturbed by the other’s comment.

“But you weren’t fat, you were normal.” Yamashita insisted, moving closer; now his chest was pressed against Kamenashi’s arm, as he continued to hold his look and catching the tiny _yet noticeable_ hitch in his breath. They stood like that, watching each other, Kamenashi’s body tense as the water in the pan continued to gurgle rather joyfully, as if excited about the two men’s new unexpected proximity.

“I didn’t say I was fat. I just have to look skinnier for the part. There’s going to be a lot of… half-naked scenes.” Kamenashi breathed out, suddenly noticing how the other’s face loomed over his, and his palms got sweaty; now they were almost exchanging puffs of hot air, and Kamenashi involuntarily shifted his eyes to the other’s plump lips, gulping, _like he wasn’t sure what to do with those if they got any closer._   

“What was the name of that drama, once again?” Yamashita whispered slowly, his lips moving as if to please the other’s eager eyes.

“Yokai Ningen Bem…” Kamenashi whispered back, his voice deep, his breathed out words fanning over the other’s cheek, sounding _dirty_ even to his own ears; he once again peered into the other’s eyes, now challenging, his brow arched, and his lips – a tiny mocking smirk that dared Yamashita, as if he had suddenly decided to change his tactics. He thought of winning that round between the two of them, when Yamashita stepped away from him, their eye contact lost, as his eyes burned with the new kind of excitement at the prospect of food.

“Hey, the ramen’s done!”

Kamenashi turned to throw an absent look at the watch, surprised, frowning, while Yamashita smiled at him wickedly, delighting himself in his annoyed huff a moment later. He then giddily grabbed the pan, a plastic board and set them in the centre of the table, plumping into the chair; already armed with his chopsticks, he smiled excitedly as he took off the cover and inhaled the spicy scent of the broth. Not waiting for now grumpy Kamenashi who was busy opening bottles with the alcohol, he dug the chopsticks into the noodles, fishing out at least a third of long pasty curls and quickly slurped on them with much appetite. A second later he moaned painfully, the mixture of hot and spicy hurting his mouth, but couldn’t stop himself from digging into the pan once again, Kamenashi’s chopsticks already flying out of the pan at the same speed. They continued eating in silence, the slurping sounds interrupted by the quiet tinkling of bottles.

When there was nothing left in the pan, Kamenashi let Yamashita scrape out the tiny leftovers as he threw his chopsticks on the table; the wooden sticks tumbled to the floor, immediately forgotten in favour of the bottle in front of him. Having lit up a cigarette, he was now filling two tiny sake cups with vodka, trying not spill the translucent liquid over the edges. Still silent, inhaling the tobacco, Kamenashi pushed one cup towards Yamashita and gestured for him to take it; he then picked up his own cup and after exhaling a big cloud of white smoke, he downed the tiny portion in one go.

**3:30am. Why Kamenashi Kazuya is actually a lady or “What’s your hand doing on my crotch, sir?”**

“There go my plans of getting you wasted and molesting you on one of those Louis Vuitton blankets,” Yamashita drawled out in a mockingly frustrated voice, and Kamenashi glared at him, blindly kicking him in the ankle, the move which only made the other laugh some more. “Seriously, you haven’t even swallowed it, why did you run to the sink to spit it out?”

Yamashita sounded genuinely incredulous, his expression bemused, as he stared at the man sitting opposite him, awkwardly sprawled on the kitchen floor; Kamenashi was tiredly leaning against the cabinets, thirstily gulping from the cold water bottle squeezed in his hand. His eyes were closed and his breathing was rapid, and he could only shrug in reply, still recovering from the nauseous feeling that had come over him the moment vodka’s taste entered his mouth; not able to endure the bitterness, he had flown out of his chair towards the sink, spitting the alcoholic liquid out and rinsing his mouth to the accompaniment of Yamashita’s hysterical laughter behind his back. Exhausted from the shock he had experienced, he sank to the floor, barking to still giggling Yamashita to get him a cold water bottle from the fridge. Few minutes later he was still resting against the wood of his kitchen cabinets, his even breathing, closed shivering eyelids and disheveled locks falling over the relaxed arcs of his eyebrows indicating that he had finally calmed down. He probably would have even dozed off, if it weren’t for the loud crunching sounds that startled him awake.

“Dammit. You found my hidden stash of chips,” Kamenashi croaked out, smiling sleepily. Yamashita smirked, sending him a knowing look; his hand dived into the package and fished out a fistful of crunchy potato slices, stuffing them into his mouth.

“Gosh, your body must be so tired, it actually refuses alcohol. But it’s okay, since my lady can’t handle her liquor tonight, I’ll play a gentleman and stay away from the “dangerous” bottles too.”

Kamenashi wrinkled his nose at the teasing smile Yamashita was giving him, the man absent-mindedly munching away right next to him, leaning on the wooden cabinets of his kitchen counter, their shoulders and legs touching. He let the other’s caustic remark get lost in the little space between the two of them, as he closed his eyes again and leaned his head back, the peaceful feeling slowly spreading inside his chest like butter that melts on the sizzling hot frying pan. The silence inside the nightly apartment stretched, broken only by the mechanical sounds of Yamashita’s crunching and never-ending run of the clock’s hands.

“Are you going to be okay?”

The quiet unexpected question held an almost eerie echo to Yamashita’s ears, as it was the one he had been dreading of the whole of that week, not able to find a proper answer to it by himself. The munching stopped, as he stared into the space, his eyes blind from the rush of thoughts that had once again entered his head; and he had almost forgotten all about it, happy to spend his last evening in Japan in peace. But oblivious Kamenashi was not the man who could give up on something easily, and as he didn’t hear any answer to the seemingly innocent question that nevertheless had been bugging him that evening, he frowned and let his fingers blindly search for the other’s hand, a comforting gesture like that still making fidgety Yamashita smile; _oh he, the one who likes holding hands with men during hearty talks._ So he caught the fingers, holding onto them, squeezing them in a nervous shudder, their rings tinkling against one another.

“This trip and… this route that you’re planning to cross all alone… Is it going to be okay?” Kamenashi repeated his question, expectant, wincing slightly at the force of Yamashita’s hold, as the other convulsively squeezed his hand in his stronger one.  He heard Yamashita let out an exasperated sigh and then the nervous guy turned towards him, his heated breath now fanning over Kamenashi’s neck.

“Well, I won’t be totally alone, you know. There will be a couple of guys, the crew, who would be filming me. Otherwise… I try not to think about it too much. I mean, I’ve been planning this trip since the very summer and now, when I’m finally good and ready to go, I’m just feeling a bit of anxiety, nothing more, nothing less. Just… well, yeah. Anxiety. That’s all.”

Yamashita trailed off, fondling with Kamenashi’s rings, twirling them on the other’s fingers, staring at them like they were the most interesting things in the world, the unsure hitch of his voice making the guy next to him snort.

“Are you trying to assure yourself? A curt “yes” would be enough for me,” Kamenashi gave him a blind teasing smile, his eyes still closed, his bemused expression ticking the still very much nervous Yamashita off, and the man whispered a spiteful _idiot_ at him. Kamenashi chuckled at that and, yielding to the sudden temptation, laid his head on the other’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of cheese potato chips and cigarette scent that always clang to Yamashita’s clothes. “Just, don’t get worked up about every little thing like you usually do, and it’ll be okay.”

“Are you actually… comforting me?” There was an amused yet hopeful note in Yamashita’s voice and Kamenashi immediately sat up, the frown distorting his features, as he felt the other turning towards him, now sliding the ring on his finger in an _obvious_ in and out kind of gesture; there was a rustle indicating that Yamashita actually threw the bag of chips behind his back, not caring for the mess he was making on his kitchen, that left Kamenashi feeling fidgety. Alarmed by the sudden change of the other’s mood, he drew his hand away from Yamashita.  

“It tickles, stop.”

“Don’t, Kame. I really need your company tonight.”

There was that silent moment of tension falling over the cold nightly kitchen, before the cold fingertips made their first contact with his lips. Kamenashi’s eyelashes fluttered and he opened his eyes, immediately rendered speechless by the proximity of the other’s face, the tips of their noses almost touching. Yamashita was holding his gaze, the unvoiced question for permission in his brown eyes making Kamenashi’s heartbeat faster; he nervously licked his lips, hot tongue grazing salty fingertips as if on purpose. The palm covered in crumbs from the potato chips smoothed over his cheek, getting lost in his hair, and Kamenashi couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch, enjoying the pull on his disheveled locks. Throwing a look at Kamenashi’s now exposed neck, Yamashita leaned in closer, his eyes closed as he nuzzled the skin there, inhaling, his lips finding one random spot; the simple touch outgrew into a series of open-mouthed kisses, kisses becoming one hungry love bite, as Yamashita bit the little patch of skin hard, eagerly smoothing his tongue over the red skin. Kamenashi winced and grabbed the guy by his ear to pull him into one deep-drawn kiss, effectively preventing the man from the painful abuse on his neck. Nothing gentle was in the way Yamashita kissed him, his tongue too vigorous in his mouth, grazing every corner he insisted to reach, tagging Kamenashi in by his shirt.

“You taste like chips,” Kamenashi whispered breathlessly, when Yamashita broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head; the still opened bottle he had been holding onto flew into the corner, immediately forgotten, spilling the water all over the floor. The man ignored him, and after unbuttoning his own shirt, immediately pulled Kamenashi into another open-mouthed kiss, the clicking of his belt buckle drowned by the obscene smacking sounds of lips on lips. Always suddenly more skillful during sex, Yamashita one-handedly freed himself of his jeans and harshly pushed the other guy away, a string of saliva still hanging between their lips; slightly dazed, Kamenashi whined when the pleasantly deep kiss came to an abrupt stop.

“Kame, blow me?” The unceremonious question made him frown, as he took in the sight of Yamashita’s glistening red lips and burning with excitement eyes and then lowered his gaze to peer at the other’s erect cock. As the guy in front of him looked mildly affronted, Yamashita shook his hand, a whiny note in his voice making Kamenashi roll his eyes. “If you blow me, I’ll let you fuck me, come on. You give wicked blowjobs, even though you’re always denying it, Kame, Kame, please.”

He watched Kamenashi give an exasperated sigh and, still frowning, the man obediently went down on him; there was a momentary hitch, and Yamashita had to pull on the other’s hair to remind him that he was still there, _waiting._ Then a hand grabbed his cock, giving it good rough strokes as a preparation for the following action and Kamenashi quickly licked his lips, covering them with enough saliva; seconds later, a hot mouth descended on his cock and Yamashita groaned in pleasure, throwing his head back.

Kamenashi did not take time to adjust to the erection on his tongue, deep throating him from the very start, the cock pulsating in his mouth, as he closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing his throat. The hand in his hair tagged insistently, urging him on to take in even more but instead, Kamenashi slowed down, letting his tongue graze just the underside of the other’s cock, smirking involuntarily, delighted to hear Yamashita curse and whine; in his turn, the deprived man scratched his naked back hard, growling at him to _suck it already, whore._ And Kamenashi lowered his mouth, deep throating him once again, in revenge, letting his teeth graze the sensitive head once; he was surprised when suddenly Yamashita gave out a deep moan and came in his throat, bitter taste of his cum making Kamenashi wince and recoil once the flaccid cock slid out of his mouth.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, panting, - Yamashita, with his penis sticking out of the hole in his underwear and Kamenashi, with the crotch area of his jeans bulging in an obvious manner, both recovering after the short obscene intercourse. Then, Kamenashi slowly rose to his feet, smoothing his messed up hair back in place, sending Yamashita an amused look.

“I’ll go get the lube and condoms, don’t go anywhere,” and he shuffled out of the kitchen, his jeans hanging low on his hips threatening to fall off at any moment. As Yamashita stood up to throw the unfinished packet of chips on the untidy table, he then pulled off his boxers and socks, kicking the useless garments away, stretching his muscles and trying not to think about the pain he would soon have to experience. Few moments later, he heard Kamenashi enter the kitchen again; the man gasped at the site of Yamashita’s naked body and arched his eyebrow at him.

“Afraid you won’t be on time for the handout?”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Yamashita didn’t give Kamenashi any time to come up with another smart retort, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him into a deep open-mouthed kiss, running his tongue over the other’s as Kamenashi buried his fingers in his hair, seemingly falling under the power of his painful erection. Moments later though, he was pushing Yamashita away, telling him to lean against the counter, and the man obliged; the sounds of Kamenashi’s buckle clinking and his zipper going down, so loud in the silent kitchen, making him moan erotically, as he found the rustle of clothing right behind his back exciting. Finally, Kamenashi’s arms encircled his waist, one arm going for his half-risen cock, the other – for his nipples, twisting them almost painfully, and Yamashita lowered his head on the counter, moaning, his arousal clouding his mind.

Yamashita hadn’t heard the pop of the tube’s lid; so when the first two slippery fingers touched his entrance as if in a warning and then plunged in, he gasped, wincing in pain, opening his mouth in a silent groan. His whispered curses of _fuck_ and _shit_ intermingled with Kamenashi’s annoyingly obligatory _it’s okay_ and _relax_ ; moments later, he was just left panting in silence, not so secretly enjoying the _slight_ pain the stretching provided him, pushing against the fingers, urging the other to give him more. When Kamenashi pushed in the third finger, Yamashita moaned loudly, his eyes still squeezed shut, as his prostrate was grazed when the other thrust his fingers deeper into him; he felt Kamenashi leaning his forehead against his naked sweating back and when he, once again, couldn’t refrain from groaning obscenely, the guy bit his shoulder harshly, as if in revenge that Yamashita was the only one receiving the pleasure.

“Now, I’m ready.”

Yamashita didn’t expect Kamenashi to hesitate or hold back and indeed, the man didn’t, thrusting into him hard and pushing his cock until he was buried inside of him up to the very hilt; Yamashita cried out, panting, another string of profanities tearing its way out of his dry throat. He fell forward, involuntarily pulling Kamenashi with him, the cock inside him slipping even deeper, as they moved together, as if one. Yamashita shuddered, wincing; feeling the other’s hand rub his abdomen in an attempt to soothe him, he snatched it, absent-mindedly squeezing Kamenashi’s wrist with his fingers. The hand on his cock which he hadn’t even felt before, stilled and Kamenashi breathed into his nape.

“Pi, you’re hurting me, let go,” and as Yamashita unwillingly loosened the hold on his wrist, Kamenashi finally decided it was the right time to move his hips, thrusting out just to push in a second later, making Yamashita moan, if in pain or pleasure, the man couldn’t tell himself. The slow building-up of their tempo left them both sweaty and craving for the release; Kamenashi sucked hard on the skin of his nape, his movements jerky and hard, and Yamashita grabbed Kamenashi’s hip behind him, squeezing it in a bruising grip, _urging him not to hold back._ Obliging, Kamenashi leaned his forehead between his shoulder blades and moved his hips with a vigorous speed, listening to Yamashita’s panting and quiet deep groans, as he himself grunted from the strain his exhausted body was trying to cope up with.

When Kamenashi’s fingers suddenly touched his cock, giving it familiar confident rough strokes, Yamashita couldn’t keep up with their violent speed anymore, and as he groaned loudly, his release came splashing over the counter, staining Kamenashi’s hand. Feeling tired and completely spent, he winced under the weight of Kamenashi’s body when the man reached his orgasm too and collapsed onto his back, exhausted, with his cock still buried deep inside the other.

**4:56am. Real Vikings never cuddle after sex; they get too busy sleeping.**

“Kame, don’t dare falling asleep on me, come on,” Yamashita said breathlessly and pushed the guy away, groaning when Kamenashi’s cock slipped out of his abused hole. He chuckled when he saw the other stumble sleepily onto the table behind him, having used up all the leftovers of his energy; now he didn’t seem to have any problem falling asleep while standing. “You’re like a rag doll, so pliant,” Yamashita whispered in an amused voice, approaching him, and as he gave him one last smooching kiss, he pulled the soiled condom off the exhausted guy; not even thinking twice before throwing it into the sink. He poked the man in front of him in the forehead, frowning at the other’s attitude. “So, you’re going to walk or I shall leave you sleeping here?”

“What. No option of you carrying me?” Kamenashi snorted, squinting at him hopefully, finally dropping the act of pretending to be asleep already.

“Well, we didn’t get married, we just fucked,” Yamashita shrugged, smirking; Kamenashi glared at him disapprovingly and silently marched out of the room, not even having the strength to retort. They proceeded towards the other’s bedroom, Kamenashi’s dogs faintly wagging their tails at the sight of their naked master dragging his feet through the living room. But before they could enter the room, Kamenashi tagged on Yamashita’s arm to attract his attention; the oblivious man throwing an interested look at him.

“Watch out with that sashaying ass of yours when in America; someone might totally jump you.”

And the dogs were startled awake with the resounding slap on Yamashita’s elastic butt.  

**Author's Note:**

> You can also read it at my [lj](http://isolated-killer.livejournal.com/34340.html#cutid1).


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